Kizár Elená Durin · @SilmarilNaro
13th Jan 2015 from TwitLonger
After http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sju33l?new_post=true
In the middle of a battle, Elennárë meets an Easterling warrior.
@Morgulwarrior @SilmarilNaro@Valandhir @Boromir_Aesir
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Shakurán
Horns ripped through the silence of the night, almost drowned out by the explosion that ripped the ancient tower ruin apart, stones hailing down into the forest, splashing into the river. The eastern shore of Osgiliath was partially aflame as Gondor's forces destroyed the underwater bridge that had almost cost them the city.
Shakurán was racing along the top of a broken wall, which had belonged to the old treasury - a building that had spanned the river once. His mission was done, little that it had to do with this untimely blast of Haradrim stupidity. He had done his task - gaining the last information and then executing a traitor before he could talk and confess his sins to the ever-watchful captain of Osgiliath. Shakurán almost regretted that Boromir would never learn who had given away so many of his carefully laid plans.
Above he heard the rushing of wings, a Drakhár was diving towards him, he pushed harder, leaping towards the grasping claw, both hands closing around the lizard's hard talon. A shout rose from the ruined bridge down there, and before either Shakurán nor the Drakhár's rider could react and archer had fired a full salvo of arrows, finding their target, hitting the Drakhár's eye and vulnerable shoulder, where the sinew that controlled the wings ran.
The Drakhár screamed in the throes of death, tumbling through the air, falling towards the dark ground. Shakurán let go of the talon, rolling up in the air, one turn, another... the ground rushed in and landed in the icy waters of the river, pain shooting through his already wounded body. He dived, to not let the enemy see someone had survived the painful fall. When he came up behind a broke pillar rising from the water, he realized he was again at the western shore and now that the Gondorians had realized that they had enemies at their backs, some of them where turning their attention back to their own hold of the city. Not a good moment to try and run for it.
A slow pain spread inside his head, the familiar echo of a veiled sorcerer's voice. <The troops are falling back. You are on your own. What you have must not be lost, under no circumstances. Hide. Find your way back. Bring it to US. DO not fail. You know the price of failure.> The cold voice whispered in his mind, relaying orders given by one much higher.
Shakurán closed his eyes, leaning against the rock in the water. He was wounded and tired, the mission to get back to the Minas Tirith, into Osgiliath and back here had taken a lot out of him and it was not over, not by a long shot. He had to hide first, let Boromir play hide and seek with the retreating Haradrim. Wait out their watchfulness and make it back, once they did not expect it.
He dived again, swimming underwater until he reached a tunnel leading deeper into the ruins. Osgiliath was a fallen city, with many places where he could hide. The old royal library came to his mind. It was close to the water and close to the Gondorian fortress - not a place where they'd look for an Easterling in hiding.
Elennárë
It had been a good few weeks since arriving in Osgiliath and settling in, and in that time Elennárë had started to form new habits since her revelation to her protector, and becoming friends with the dwarven smith Kíli. A good deal of her time was spent in Kíli's smithy, her stoneform hidden in the back room where she felt more safe than even in the tower where Boromir's quarters were located. She read books while there, relearning small tricks of how to manipulate air while doing simple things like turning pages, even relearning ways of forming illusory forms that would be visible to anyone. Not that she used such ghost forms, especially in this city, but it might end up being useful in the future - not everyone had the abilities to see into the spiritual world as Kíli or the line of the Stewards could.
She did not always stay in the smithy though, as even she could grow bored staying in one place. She could wander as a spirit some fair distance from her stoneform and would sometimes wander through the ruins, trying to find hidden treasures left in spots people had never been able to reach. Caved-in rooms with no way in, underwater areas - sometimes these places retained remnants of what Osgiliath once was, in ceramics and murals left unplundered.
The battle that raged had caught her somewhat unaware, as she had been wandering when enemy forces started emerging and she was left in a situation where she was caught with them between her and the smithy. Easterlings in particular worried her as they learned how to see the spirit world, and would see her no matter how visible in the mundane she was. She she kept moving, heading in the right general direction despite having to veer off at times. Maybe she could find a path through the library that was free of the attackers. If she went through there, and headed to her left on the other side...
She stopped as she heard a sound that did not fit in quite right. It could be a rat, as abandoned though it may be, Osgiliath still had it's non-human inhabitants, but it sounded too loud for something small.
Shakurán
Shakurán shivered, now that he was out of the cold water, he began to feel the chill creeping into his bones, The wound in his side and in his leg were still bleeding, he'd have to take care of that soon. He moved away from the water and mounted a flight of stairs, that led to the upper rooms - maybe he could hide there. When he turned around a corner, he sensed something brushing against his mind, it was fleeting, like a whisper just out of hearing range. But it was warning enough, that he was not alone.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward, calling upon the shadow eyes was habit now, after years in Minas Morgul it was habit to use the sight that allowed him to perceive the shaded world. He almost stumbled when he walked on, using one hand to balance himself against a mighty marble pillar, that still upheld the roof of the building.
Inside the wide hallway that traversed the royal library he saw her - the beautiful ghostly form of a woman standing there. She was tall, willowy, with long flowing hair shimmering as silvery as the rest of her spirit form. Halting his steps Shakurán looked at her, she did not vanish at a second glance, so she was not an apparition, not an echo of someone who had once traversed these halls. She had to be a ghost.
Elennárë
Elennárë turned, feeling something faintly familiar nearby. It was a Dark feeling, one that reminded her a little of Angband, though more recent memories of times she had been with Boromir as he faced Easterling warriors also came to mind. Certainly it was a person, an Easterling with a fair amount of training. She tilted her head and scanned the room. He was there, just beyond a pillar.
"Will you show yourself or not, dare the light or stay in your shadows?" She chose her words to sound slightly poetic and teasing.
Shakurán
The words take Shakurán by surprise, not just that they are very musical with an almost poetic quality to them - but even more that the ghost lady seems to be aware of her immediate surroundings. Is she... is she even aware that she is a ghost? He wonders, while limping out of the shadows, so she can see him in the hallway. "I had not wish to frighten you," he says in Adûnaic, hoping that his accent is not too strong and she can understand him. "nor did I wish to disturb your halls."
Elennárë
Elennárë smiled a small amused smile, absently pushing a lock of hair back behind a pointed ear. "Not my halls, I would say, though I know those who hold rightful claim over them do not find my presence against their will. If anything, I bring them back tales of what I find as I wander." Her Adûnaic, learned over the years she has lived with Boromir, is a bit awkward and stumbling, but understandable, or so she hopes. It was never Boromir's strong point, learning Gondor's ancient tongue, so she had to sit, unseen, with what folk she found in Minas Tirith who were studying it, as well as her quiet pursuit of learning the histories that would teach her where Gondor related to the ancient world she once knew.
Shakurán
Her voice was entirely too musical for the hard tongue Adûnaic can be, and when Shakurán saw her push her long hair back, he froze. A fëa. A trapped elven fëa? How in the name of the old mad one below had she come to be stuck here? Fëar rarely lingered in the world... at least that was what he had been taught about them, he had never encountered one before. What she said about reporting to Boromir was of more immediate danger, though Shakurán knew there was little he could do to hinder her movement. The few things he knew about entrapping a minor ghost had barely worked on human or dwarven spirits in the past... an elven fëa was a horse of an entirely different color.
"I have to apologize then, my Lady," he replied, "that I cannot address you in your native tongue. What little we do learn of your speech in my homeland, is probably so ancient that no one else still understands it." Keeping her occupied here, would be his best course of action for now... time was what he needed and she did not seem disinclined to talk.
Elennárë
For a moment Elennárë frowns thoughtfully. "The Empire once had connections to Angband, back in the First Age?" She mused thoughtfully, reverting to Westron as she found it easier. "If the ancient tongues that your people keep record of came from the likes of Ravenér, I believe I would know it - Fëanorian Quenya was my first language." She shrugged as she studied his features.
While she had never been present any of the times they had faced off, his features were familiar in the way of a description of someone unmet. It was a great likelihood this was Boromir's nemesis, Shakurán, as had all the marks and form she had heard him described with. It made her try to reach unseen - even to his spiritually aware senses, to her stoneform. She knew he was dangerous, and therefore valuable, but on top of that, despite being enemies, Boromir respected him. Her stoneform could be near enough to Kíli and he could relay a message to Boromir.
Shakurán
Her question comes as a surprise, but then... who knows what kind of history is allowed among the elves? Not all the books record is the truth, on both sides possibly. "Of course," he replies, reverting to the ancient elven he had been taught, he has more read it than spoken it, but he tries his best to speak correctly, and not mangle the words, though it forces him to speak more slowly. "my people served the Great Lord from the dawn of time to this day." Her referring to Ravanér, the Herald of the Night, means that she must have read a few forbidden books in her day. "And my people remember our great adversaries from those days." She seems a bit distracted, maybe she is contemplating leaving and alerting Boromir to his presence? "May I ask for you name?" he asks her. "My name is Shakurán." It is dangerous to admit it, but lying would be dishonorable. Lying to the dead even more so.
Elennárë
Names could be a dangerous thing, giving a true name could give power to someone, and knowing what she knew of the Dark as it was practiced in Angband, a true name could very well be used to fell purposes, if it got back to the Empire's Veiled Sorcerers. Truth be told however, if Elennárë had any name truer than "Star of Fire", it was in a language with no words at all, rendered only in emotion and abstracts that she and her sisters considered their language before they even learned Quenya.
"Elennárë is as true a name for me as any, though I admit I have had a few over the years, though it is certainly the one my adopted father gave me." She said, deciding that even if she could be reached through it, she had shielded herself from greater things than the sorcerers of the East.
She had to hope Kíli heard her call, but if it came to absolute need, she would be willing to raise fire to keep Shakurán hemmed in until he could be apprehended.
Shakurán
"Elennárë, the star of fire, a beautiful name," Shakurán shifted his position slightly, to take the strain off his wounded leg. He could not link it to any person quite directly, no elf of that name came to mind. "I hope you will not take offense that it reminds me of an old children's story among my people." He let himself slide down to a semi-crouch, to at least marginally bandage the wound in his leg.
Elennárë
That piqued some curiosity in Elennárë, as she had come to believe the tales people told children said much for the groundwork of their cultural character. "Would you tell me this story? Any story is a good one, even if one merely finds the moral it tries to teach to be adverse to their beliefs." In something of a mirror of Shakurán's position, Elennárë also found a spot to sit, legs folded and leaning against a long-displaced stone.
Shakurán
Shakurán settled a bit more relaxed. "A long time ago, when the world was much younger than today," he began the tale, that began like all eastern children's tales began. "a young warrior was send west to serve at the great fortress of flame. While there, during the watches of the night, he kept hearing a whispering in the long empty halls. None of his comrades could hear it, and they dismissed his claim that something was there for nonsense, and some suggested that he lacked the nerve and courage it took, to serve in that place. But Shangraile - which was the name of the warrior - was not easily deterred and soon he began to listen to those whispers, until one night he heard a sad song echo in an empty hall. When he came there he encountered three beautiful spirits. At first they would not speak to him at all, and shy away from him, fade before his eyes and leave him alone in the empty hall. But as he went to look for them night after night, he encountered them again and in time they stopped running from him. They were three sisters, three fallen stars who walked the lands unseen. And while his comrades mocked him, for sometimes walking the more abandoned halls of the fortress, Shangraile returned there time and again to speak to the sisters.They were very shy and would never fully trust him, but they allowed him to listen to their songs at night. Then, one day, the fortress was attacked and overrun by enemy forces, Shangraile's comrades were slaughtered, and while he managed to kill one of the enemy commanders, he was buried under the rubble of the collapsing halls. While he lay there, wounded and trapped under tons of stone, he heard the sisters' singing again, and felt their presence. When he awoke anew, he was no longer trapped, but lay in a hallway, a bit away from the collapsed section. After that day Shangraile never saw the three sisters again, but he kept their memory as that of those who saved his life. And thus we learn to never easily dismiss a being, as strange as it might appear to us."
Shakurán had told the story the way he remembered it, only translating it into the ancient tongue, instead of his own native language.
Elennárë
As she listened, it quickly became evident what the story was about, and Elennárë could not stop the strange nostalgic smile that crept across her face. To hear the tale of events she remembered, as told from the other side, it was both strange and flattering that she and her sisters were remembered with kind words.
"That... is a tale I am not totally unaware of, though I knew it more from the viewpoint of those who once knew the sisters, long before they ended up in that place. In some ways it's nice to know that they are remembered kindly, for who they were, not what they were."
Shakurán
"They were kind souls," Shakurán replied, wondering what she might know of those events. He was already tempted to ask her, to ask about the more concrete place of those events... when he heard a sound down from the stairs. The step was heavy, too heavy for any man, so it was most likely an Orc, some of them might have escaped by diving as well. He pushed himself to his feet, one hand going to the sword. "Don't fear," he said softly to Elennárë, before walking a few steps past her.
"Out there, whoever of you sorry hides escaped the drowning," he says more sharply in the primitive variety of the dark tongue that is understood by most Orcs. "or are you skulking about for a little plundering?"
"Plundering would me more your kind of expertise," a deep voice replies in Westron as the person comes in sight. A good deal shorter than Shakurán is, stockier too, and clad in a simply chanmail without tabard or other insignia indicating rank. "Not that I am surprised finding some of your ilk here."
Before Shakurán can react the other warrior tackles him, not for a strike with the sword, but for a full physical impact, that throws both of them against a wall with the remains of a window. They both are thrown outside, landing on the broken remains of the ruin outside.
Shakurán's leg burns with the impact but he manages to disentangle himself and getting to his feet. This one wanted him away from the ghost, that much is clear. "First an elven ghost... and now a dwarf, this day is getting better and better," he quips as his blade comes down on his opponent.
Elennárë
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elennárë cannot help be amused and a hand moves to cover her lips, not letting giggle that threats emerge. She rises to her feet and moves out of the way of the two, though under it she offers some warmth to Kíli, supporting him as he fights.
But she can now sense Kíli is not here alone. The other who has followed is just outside and she presumes Kíli was able to call him before coming this way. More than that, Boromir has other men with him - this is not an opportunity he would waste.
Shakurán
Their blades clash hard and Shakurán has to give ground as the dwarf counters his attacks aggressively. He spins around, and uses a kick to throw the dwarf off for a moment, he lands in the water, but comes up swiftly. "You are good," he comments, like always playing his opponents mind even while they fight. "Who are you?"
The dwarrow grins as he attacks again, his sword almost shattering Shakurán's blade. "Kíli, Son of Dari, at your service." A half-spin follows with a wild attack that Shakurán only just so dodges.
"You are dead." The words are out before Shakurán can check them. He knows the canticle of the dragon and the story of the fall of the dwarven royal house. A few of his people have wondered if this dwarf could have been a second Frérin Dragonsbane... that he lives bodes ill indeed. He just learned another secret that he needs to bring home.
"Stories of my demise are bit exaggerated..." The next attack comes and Shakurán retreats, this time deliberately to get closer to the river. From the corner of his eye he sees several figures approach, Boromir for sure - and he has been hearing their conversation. Good... this gives him a new angle.
He parries a few attacks, retreating another step and jumping on a ledge leading out towards the water, part of the broken bridges. "Strange... for what crime did your kind banish their only living dragon-slayer?" he asks, now playing towards doubts he may raise with those who might not even know whom they have here. Gondor luckily is paranoid when it comes to strangers. "Is it true you were part of your king's demise?"
A moment later Shakurán knows he has made a mistake - there is pure rage in the dwarf's black eyes now. He leaps onto the ledge moving with the innate balance of his kind and hunts Shakurán across the broken bridge. Each of his hits hits hard, not caring how much he has to take, as long as he lands hits in turn.
Boromir
Boromir hears Shakurán's words and finds himsel fdigging in his memory about tales of dwarves and dragons - recent tales at that. The most obvious, of course, is the events up in the north surrounding the death of the dragon Smaug and the reclaiming of both Dale and the Lonely Mountain by their respective peoples. Boromir can guess that Shakurán seeks to sow distrust, but Shakurán has no idea how well trusted Kíli is, even before the private relationships between him, Boromir and Elennárë.
A quick signal has Boromir's men circling both Shakurán and Kíli, and Elennárë gravitates to Boromir's side, a move he notes is tracked by a few of his men, the soldiers a bit worried, the rangers a bit more assessing. She had told him she was trying to retrain her skills and create a visible manifestation and he guesses she has resorted to that now.
However Kíli's reaction to the comment about the death of his king is a shock, even to Boromir, for how ferocious it is. Kíli must have known him, the king who fell, to be this angry, and though Boromir would let him exercise that anger, he needed to take Shakurán alive, for the sake of questioning.
"Kíli, let him be. he will not go unpunished for this affront, but we need him alive."
Kíli
Kíli is panting, his anger still fresh, and the will to destroy the Easterling utterly is still there. One swift move disarms the Easterling, the black blade cracking up, shattering to pieces. Boromir's order is clear, the voice cutting through Kíli's rage. He takes a slow breath, forcing himself to not ram the blade the down the Easterling's gut and leave him to a slow death. He wants to... but he also knows an order for an order, and thus he steps back, allowing the soldiers to circle the Easterling fully. "As you say, Captain." he replies, as is proper.
Among the soldiers he can see Elennárë, now visible to many. This will spread like wildfire among the troops, but it is nothing they can't deal with. He sheaths his blade and steps back.
Shakurán
Shakurán hides all dread behind a smart smile at Boromir. "Well played, Son of the Sea Kings... surprising though you allies may be, I cannot quite congratulate you on them." he says, voice even and steady. He will have to find ways to survive this, and death by Boromir's hand has just become the least of his worries.
Boromir
Boromir responds with a smirk, acknowledging Shakurán's words. "That they do, and with strange stories and abilities at their call as well." He steps Shakurán's way and accepts a rope and looks at the Easterling seriously. "You can come quietly or not, that is your choice, though the former would mean less injuries than you already have. "
Elennárë
As Boromir's attention is on Shakurán, Elennárë turns towards Kíli, seeing how he is. His anger is still just below the surface and she reaches out to softly soothe it a little. "I do not doubt you, I do not believe his words. Neither does Boromir, as we both know you better than someone who is not even of Gondor could ever comprehend."
Shakurán
Shakurán smiles coolly at Boromir, having made his decision. Where he to die here Boromir might find the incriminating steel capsule along with their dead spy's last secrets. Captured Shakurán has a chance to conceal it. "Death, Son of the Sea Kings is nothing to fear... Death just *is*." he says, giving himself up. For now.
Kíli
Kíli closes his eyes, letting the soothing words wash over him, grateful for Elennárë to be here. "He knew how to call upon an old pain," he says softly, reaching for her hand. "I am glad you are here." The words have dredged up the past, the echoes of things now long gone. And Kíli knows that the Easterling used his weapon well.
Elennárë
Elennárë lets Kíli draw her in and she slips her arms around his shoulders. "I will always be here if you wish to speak of that pain, to dispel it with words. Mayhap later, once we're back at camp." She says softly.
Though for the most part she is supporting Kíli, her eye however is on Boromir and Shakurán. "Death is an end that destroys any chance of correcting mistakes, fixing problems." It is a pointed comment in Shakurán's direction.
Boromir
It is, of course, standard procedure to search a newly taken prisoner, especially if they are Men serving the Shadow, for concealed weapons and other questionable items. Shakurán in particular is one Boromir would trust not to be so unequipped as to have only one weapon, and he murmurs an order to carry out the search for such right here and now. Something rubs him the wrong way and a feeling sent to him across the bond from his dream-sister tells him she feels similar.
He leaves it to Halvaran and turns towards Kíli and Elennárë, seeing how they are. "I would accompany you back to camp, mastersmith," he resorts to formal words in front of his men, though he hopes Kíli will see through it to the underlying concern. "You and our honoured Lady."
Elennárë
Shakurán casts her something akin to a sad smile. "We all die, little Firestar, even the world dies... nothing is eternal." Except the Shadow, the last he leaves unsaid, as he is handed over to the rangers for search and detainment.
Kíli
Kíli can read between the lines of what Boromir is not saying and cannot say here in front of the men. And of course the Captain would like to know why the camp smith was so fast in tracking the Easterling, something the men will understand all too well, and wonder where Kíli spotted the intruder originally. He gives a short, crisp salute, fist over his heart. "Of course, Captain." Following Boromir back to camp, back to the forge.
Elennárë
As Kíli turns to leave Elennárë has one last word for Shakurán before she follows. "Even darkness can die, while light can endure even the deepest shadows." The words come from somewhere in her deepest memories, but she will examine that later. "Those three sisters, they survived their time in the great fortress, and now one sails the night skies, a constant beacon of Light to the world." She will let Shakurán contemplate that for himself, for the time being. Maybe later she will speak time him again and see if he worked out the riddle in them.
Boromir
As Elennárë steps over to join he and Kíli, Boromir also puzzles at her words. Three sisters, the great fortress which sounds like a reference to Angband, a star... He knows what that sounds like to his mind, and connecting it with other things he knows of Elennárë... He would ask those questions later, in a more private setting.
Kíli
Kíli frowns when he hears Elennárë's words, he heard a bit of her conversation with the Easterling when he closed in on them, but this... this sounds like a legend he feels he should recognize. Three sisters... a star in the night sky... he knows this secret is not going to let him give up on it. He will probably contemplate it a lot while working the next few days. Right now it distracts him a bit from thinking of other things. When they reach the forge, he checks swiftly for people being around, masked under the check for any enemy still being here. Then, once sure, they are alone he lets go of the distanced demeanor and turns to Boromir and her. "Elennárë alerted me to his presence," he says simply, in way of explaining. "it is thanks to her that he could not hide in the ruins... I'd think that might have been his plan, given the shape he was in."
Boromir
Boromir nods, offering Elennárë a tired smile of thanks as he sits down. The fighting had been a stress, knowing a way in behind their line had still failed to be found. He did not wish to ask it, but he thought he might need his dream-sister's ability to venture underwater to double-check the defenses very soon.
"It seemed almost like he was asking for me to execute him right there. That alone strikes me that he definitely had something to hide." Boromir stated. "I hope we uncover it, though I know Easterlings who have taken the Dark training as he has are extremely resistant to any torture."
Elennárë
Being one room away from her stoneform has Elennárë feeling much more calm once again. She is safe, she can relax.
"If it is needed, let me speak to him. While I may dislike having to force information from someone, I think I have a unique ability to do so with someone of the Dark such as he." She offers, a bit tentatively. "I am, by nature, aligned with the Light, and while mundane pain might not motivate him, the Light might do so."
Kíli
Kíli can read the exhaustion in the way Boromir sits down. The entire event was reason enough for worry - and he does not need to ask to know that Boromir was in the thick of the fighting. Wordlessly he gets some things from his chest in the hidden room and squats down beside him. "Let me check on your injuries," he says gently, pushing all other worries aside. "I have little to offer about how to make an Easterling talk... though I agree that Elennárë might have the swift mind to get things from him, that others might never hear."
Boromir
Boromir nods in agreement, starting to unbuckle his armour. Here in Osgiliath it included the heavy steel breastplate and spaulders over chainmail. His tiredness shows in the speed which he removes it, slower than he might otherwise.
Looking to Elennárë, he speaks, "I am a little reluctant to ask a Lady to the dirty work of interrogation. Light or no, I do not wish you to discomfort yourself too much, my sister."
Elennárë
Elennárë looks up from the floor, where her stoneform, having taken the opportunity while Kíli fetched his things to quietly roll out to join them. "I would only resort to 'dirty work' as a last resort, but I am very grateful for your concern for my well-being on it." She smiled. "Maybe things will not come to that, let us wait and see before we worry about it."
Kíli
Wordlessly Kíli helps Boromir to remove the heavy armor pieces, setting them aside as they go, before he can begin to check and clean the wounds Boromir received. The armor prevented many a hit from getting through - and the chestplate will need some work after. He looks to Elennárë when she speaks and again the things he thought on her, and she said make him wonder. "If I know anything on elves, then it is that they can make you admit three things before you know it and make you think two things you never planned on, before you realize." he says, with a gentle teasing in her direction. Somehow he trusts that she might get more from that Easterling than any torturer would.
Noticing a a cut along Boromir's lower back he makes a face. "That blade slipped right past your chestplate," he uses a spark of his flame to get the water in the bowl hot before he starts cleaning the cut, which luckily is not too deep. "you were lucky it only grazed you."
Elennárë
Elennárë giggles lightly. "Maybe the older and more experienced ones, but I unfortunately had a very sheltered upbringing, so how far I can do so..." She shrugs. "Maybe if it were Lossanárë doing such a questioning she could pull that trick."
Boromir
"I know I would have little problem with a scar but I suspect my father would object, no matter how much it would show me the warrior he prizes me as being. At least, he would object to it on my face." While he speaks lightly he turns over a new tidbit on Elennárë - a name, someone she must have known at one time.
Kíli
Lossanárë... the Star of the Skies... or at least that is the translation Kíli can come up with at once. While still busy with applying a rough salve of elfroot and dreambane to the cut, Kíli wonders if that links to the sister she mentioned wandering the night skies. For a moment he stops. A stone being a star in the sky? His eyes go to the obsidian orb he helped shape... no, it cannot be. It is simply impossible, the description does not match in the slightest. "I am sure you will do fine," he says, as he begins to bandage the wound.
"As for scars on the face - those may come with bragging rights, but being a dwarf who appreciates physical perfection... I have to agree with your father, strange though that might sound." he teases Boromir back.
Boromir
That bring a soft fond smile to Boromir's face and he reaches over to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Kíli's ear, fingers lingering in a small caress. "Well then I hope it heals cleanly, for the sake of your appreciation."
Elennárë
Elennárë sits back, a calm smile on her face. Being able to witness little acts of affection like this is something she values. Seeing them enjoy these little pieces of happiness makes her own life the happier. If nothing else, the fighting today is a little less of a shadow on her mind for knowing these two have this.
Kíli
That small touch reaches a place deep inside a Kíli and brings a warm spark to his eyes, Boromir so easily reaches beyond all the walls he had erected. It also reminds him that Boromir heard all Shakurán said - and he saw Kíli fall into dwarven battle rage out there. He deserves answers. With anyone else Kíli would simply wait... letting them come to him and demand answers, or deflecting possible questions. Not that anyone ever asked about his past. It was his skill that earned him his place here, not his past, nor his bloodline. But this is not someone else, this is Boromir. *His* Boromir, as he dares to think of him in possessive moments, and with him Kíli does not want to play mind-games. And yet, it is harder to know where to begin. "You heard all that Shakurán said out on the wall," he finally says, trying to somehow begin. "had I known they were so convinced of my death I might have remained by my other name..."
Boromir
"I did not want to push you into answers about it, but I did wonder after hearing that. I have learned of the Battle of Dale and that a dwarf king died there, but how that relates to you is for you to say." He shakes his head a bit. "I would rather trust your word on it as I know Shakurán was out to sow doubts with some of his claims."
Kíli
For a moment Kíli closes his eyes, the mention of the fallen dwarf King echoing into old pains, old regrets and old angers. When he opens them again, his gaze is fully focused on Boromir. "My name is Kíli, son of Dís and Dari, I never lied about my true name," he begins, though he now knows he might one day get an earful about a certain ballad about Dís and Dari. "the dwarf King you mentioned... Thorin Oakenshield, who died in the Battle of the Five Armies, the Battle of Dale as you call it was my Uncle. With him fell my older brother, Fíli. And as far as the dwarven nation is concerned I'd better be dead as well - or maybe it would be more correct to say, that to them I should have taken my own life to not shame my house." He shakes his head. "Excepting one kind old dwarrow who found me decades ago, when I stumbled across his doorstep half-dead, and who considers me kind of the son he never had, I have no family to speak of anymore."
Boromir
For a moment Boromir sat silent, thinking on what Kíli has said. The accusation of killing his king that Shakurán made was one he did not believe even then and now he thinks it even more untrue, especially if said king was Kíli's uncle. One thing does however have him wondering.
"Shakurán called you a dragonslayer. I know the tales that made it here to Gondor give credit to the surviving heir of Dale's throne, but that information could have been false." He paused for a moment. "If it was your hand that killed it, why would they feel so ashamed and wish your death? Slaying a dragon would make anyone a hero."
Kíli
Of course Kíli heard that Thorli was usually hailed as the dragonslayer, and with all that had happened he had cared little for the fame of actually killing the beast. "It is true what he said," he replies. "I killed Smaug, it was nothing heroic... more an act of sheer desperation." He knows Boromir will understand this, he will understand that many an act of bravery began because one with the back to the wall and had nowhere to run. "The reason I am shamed is another, the term is Zarg-tagir... 'Orc-plaything'." He knows that Menfolk does not know the term, but they know the problem with people who ended up in Orc hands. "Twice in my life I was captured by Orcs, the first time I ended up in a forge and made work... I escaped not long after. The second time," he looks down for a moment, averting his eyes. "they wanted me for sport, to torment the others who had been captured as well. That story became known shortly after the Battle of Dale. One of my comrades gave it away, maybe from foolishness, maybe from utter disgust, I do not know. But once it was out, my Uncle's cousin, Dáin, was forced to act on it."
Boromir
There is an implication there, in those words, "for sport". It is a polite phrase for the extremes of unsavory behaviour one could see in war, and Boromir had seen it, and the results of people reacting to it, and it's victims. It was... not pretty when the victims were treated badly and it was thing Boromir could be proud to be his father's son because of, as Denethor had despised the ill-treatment of war victims, believing that even hurt as they were, they were people of Gondor still.
"And for that they would not accept you, gave credit for your actions to others, forced you into exile?" He couldn't stop the snort of disgust. "Better then that Gondor has the honour of your skills then. What they squandered is valued here."
Kíli
"Better claim another for the deed, than having too many people liken this to another old story. We all have our lies that allow us to go on." Kíli looks up, touched by Boromir's words, by the acceptance that echoes in them. "All this is long past now, and Gondor is now my home." He reaches up to place a hand on Boromir's arm. "I belong with you now. Let the past have it's ashes."
Boromir
The look on Kíli's face draws up a need in Boromir and he reaches out to pull Kíli into a hug. "Yes, you are here now, with me. My friend, my beloved." He murmurs into Kíli's hair.
Kíli
Kíli wraps both arms around Boromir, holding him tight. Now that he has found him, found this... he'd never give it up again. As Balin once had said, it was a life worth more than all the gold in Erebor.